


Hold Me

by kangeiko



Category: Alias
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Russia, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-22
Updated: 2006-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irina misremembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

> alias500 challenge: mythology (Russian: Baba Yaga)

The first time Irina had seen the preparation of chicken soup from scratch had been when visiting her grandparents. Her grandfather, gaze flitting over Katya and Elena, both of whom were feeding twigs and bits of newspaper to the fire, had finally approached a bored-looking Irina and asked her to choose a chicken from the clutch of hens twittering hopefully near the corn-barn. The four-year-old had dutifully looked over the chickens and eventually chosen one she immediately named Valerii.

Her grandfather had then hefted his axe, and chopped off Valerii's head.

With the benefit of hindsight, Irina knows that he wouldn't have let go of the dying animal; that he would have held on until the death throes were over. This, however, is not what she remembers. In her mind, the headless chicken sprints across the yard, shedding bloodied feathers in its wake and heading straight for her. Irina remembers clearly the motion of the chicken legs - _left right left right_ \- and the sideways sway of the headless bird, and her grandfather recedes far into the background, with his silver beard and his bloodied axe and his lined face.

"What's wrong, Ira?" Elena had cooed, soothing away Irina's tears.

Irina cannot remember what she said in response, or how she expressed her dismay. All she remembers is that Elena had taken one look at the kicking chicken legs – whether they be running on the ground or feebly moving in her grandfather's grasp – and had gathered the weeping Irina into her arms. "Don't be afraid, bebe. I've got you. Don't be afraid."

"Baba Yaga'll g-g-get me!"

Elena's arms had been tight around her, lifting her up into a sure embrace. "Don't be afraid, Ira. I won't let Baba Yaga take you. I promise."

Those warm arms had gone around Irina with reassuring regularity thereafter, through nightmares and sickness and terrifying fear. "Baba Yaga'll get me!" became the newly-awaken Irina's cry at three in the morning, and Elena would curl up next to her under the thick woollen blanket and tenderly stroke her hair.

"No, she won't. I won't let her."

Irina knows that this is not what happened, that she is misremembering, but she cannot make herself stop. Does the sequence of events really matter, when her terror of Baba Yaga had been so overwhelming? She is misremembering Elena's promise, she knows, but has no other way to account for the echo of warm arms around her, protecting her from Baba Yaga's embrace.

Her chest hurts and her palms are sweating, and Elena is tenderly stroking her hair. "Wake up, Ira. Wake up."

Irina gasps great lungfuls of stale hospital air, the panic of waking soothed by familiar arms. She almost smiles until Baba Yaga's lined face swims into view and she remembers. She begins to struggle, trying to will herself back to death, away from this other embrace. A sister's promise holds her; it will not be taken back.

*  
fin


End file.
